


My Brother's Keeper

by Happy_Cow



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Instability, Molestation, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, POV First Person, Poor Rey (Star Wars), Rey is an unspecified age, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happy_Cow/pseuds/Happy_Cow
Summary: My house has no locks on the doors.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 27
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I learned the word 'parentification' the other day and made something short n dark)  
> (Pls be advised: Severely mentally ill adult brother molests his teen sister)

My house has no locks on the doors. That’s one of the reasons why I can’t have friends over.

If you need the bathroom, but the door is closed, you better be sure to knock first. I can’t imagine a more horrifying scenario, of going to somebody’s bathroom, sitting down to do your business, and then having a stranger barge in after you. Things like that don’t happen in a normal house, in a normal family. 

Conversely, there are locks on all of the drawers. All of the cleaning detergents and the bleach are safely locked away. Ditto the knife drawer. We don’t eat anything harder than a grilled salmon filet.

The walls are chock-full of those wood blocks or picture frames with inspiring slogans on them in a loopy font: _Love_. _Hope_. _Kindness_. _Believe in yourself_. _This doesn’t end the way you think_. _Keep on keeping on._ Sometimes they have dried flowers or soft pink-blue tie-dye designs on them.

Do you want to live here? Because _I_ don’t. But when Mom hears this, she calls me an _ungrateful brat_. She says I’m _whining_. She says there are homeless children living on the street, who would give their _left_ _leg_ to live like I do. How ‘bout I ask _them_?

The raised voices and the utensils slamming disturb Benjamin. He is a sensitive boy. We both notice too late once he’s shaking and clutching his face, but Mom turns to me with _hatred_ burning in her grey eyes and screams, _Look what you’ve done now._

This is _all_ _my fault_. When he wakes up late to an empty house or he spits up his pills, it’s all my fault.

.

My house has no locks on the doors, so I make sure to slam mine’s as hard as possible. It doesn’t matter if it breaks off. It hurts to breath and my eyes itch, so I sort of flop facedown on my bed. If I cry, it has to be alone in my room so that Benjamin won’t see it or hear it. Han called me the ‘ _easy kid_ ’. But I wasn’t enough to make him stay.

I count backwards from twenty. Eventually the fist inside my chest sort of releases, but when I open my eyes, everything is hazy. Spots float in my vision. This is one of the differences between my brother and I. Tumblr says that I’m _privileged_ because of it.

So weird. Years ago, the doctors did some tests on me, too, and they said I was neurotypical. There’s a ninety-nine-point-nine percent chance that I’ll stay neurotypical. _Oh thank god_ , laughed Mom. Sometimes I wonder what she would have done, if it were me instead of my brother. Sometimes I wonder what my brother would have done. Maybe he would come home to visit, from MIT. Once he started his own company, he would send money back to Mom for a nurse. He would visit for the holidays if he weren’t too busy.

If you live here, you need to keep those aforementioned colored wood blocks in your room, too. You need to _surround yourself_ with _positivity_ , in case your brother goes into your room while you’re at school, to look for a way to hurt himself. He needs to know that he is _safe_ and _loved_ wherever he goes. Mom says I can’t put my soccer trophies or my Honor Roll papers up, because they would make Benjamin feel bad about himself. It would be a bitter reminder of when Benjamin made valedictorian in high school. And that he did varsity track-and-field, and swim meets, and camping.

In his emails, Uncle Luke says he prays a lot for his nephew to get better. I used to do that, too, before I understood exactly what my brother was afflicted with. It’s not the kind of sickness that just goes away. My brother won’t wake up one day, and return to MIT. He won’t take me out to the woods and start a bonfire and sing with me again. Don’t tell Mom, but I think that man is dead.

After a time, I open the door. I listen for a whimper or for manic screaming, but all is silent. The best moments are the moments where I’m not needed at all. 

.

I hear my door click closed and suddenly I bolt awake. I think somebody’s in my room.

It’s dark, but the floor creaks. Someone tall breathes in the dark. After a moment, a voice says my name. It’s _him_.

“Benjamin? Benjamin, _get out_.” My voice cracks in my own ears. He never listens to me. Benjamin is six foot two, and when he’s upset he makes holes through the walls. But Mom swears up and down that he’d never hurt me. No, my _old_ brother never hurt me, never screamed, and never punched holes through walls. I’m just waiting for what this guy has in store for me next.

If I scream I’ll upset him, if I cry I’ll upset him, so I just keep very still and very quiet. But I think that only works in the Jurassic Park movies. His weight sinks the bed and I feel him sliding underneath the sheets, _behind_ me. My _whining_ falls on deaf ears.

“Rey?” he says, his voice soft and nasal. “Why did you go?” It’s my brother’s voice, except it’s _not_ my brother. They say it’s a symptom of the meds. The doctors prescribed him lithium, I think. The stuff they put in batteries.

“Are you _angry_ still?” he asks. “Your Mother loves you very much. She would hurt, to see you leave us.”

Thick fingers wrap around my waist. He’s not supposed to go into my room. He’s not supposed to hug me if I don’t want a hug. Mom told him so, but the takeaway was that I should just _get over it_. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Not anymore.

He pulls me to his chest, his arms crossing over my hollow stomach. A fishy sigh caresses my hair. He repositions his hold — and the flat of his palm brushes against my nipple. It’s the worst — it’s _the_ _worst_ thing that I have _ever_ felt. _He doesn’t know what he’s doing_ , Mom says, over and over, ad infinitum. My brother is gone, his brain fried out and replaced by some giant, insane alien’s. He’ll _never_ be responsible for any of his actions ever again, but _I_ will because _I_ am his neurotypical sister. _I’m_ the only one who should know better.

“You could leave, but who would take your place, little one?” he says. “There is no one as compassionate as you. No one to _care_ for your mother and I as you do. You do it so _well_. You are more than what you think yourself to be.”

His hand makes circles over my stomach. It feels... I don’t know. 

“You are _not_ ungrateful,” he says softly, “but there is no easy way to thank you, little one. You have your warm bed, and your full tummy. You are loved by your mother.” His hands move lower. His mouth breaths in my hair.

Slowly his hand slides down the front of my shorts, between my legs. My spine tenses; Benjamin talks to me in his low, soft voice. 

His hand rubs me, _there_. He curls his fingers. My p — my thighs press together, but this traps his hand against _it_. I try to push him away, but it’s like trying to move an iron post. He talks still like this isn’t happening. I don’t think I’m supposed to fight him; Mom wouldn’t like that.

A pressure builds in my lower back from where his hand rubs my p — my private parts. It feels good, but it’s wrong. I don’t know why this is happening to me. I want him to stop, but I’m scared of what would happen. His other hand presses tight around my stomach, so all I can do is wriggle against his chest. Why is he doing this?

The pressure builds and builds until it breaks over me. It’s the worst thing I ever felt — I think I peed myself a little. I feel dirty and sick. But Benjamin is still holding me, and he pulls me tighter to him, burying his face in my hair. I think he’s talking about Grandpa. This can’t be real. I think I’m having a nightmare.

His hand swings away and I hear a cardboard sound. Then he slides his hand down my shorts. He’s wiping my p—... my...

“It’s okay,” he sighs. “You made something beautiful, just for me.” The tissue presses _into_ me, and with every rub the sensation comes _back_. I think something is _wrong_ with me after all.

_Sh, sh. Don’t cry_ , he murmurs. The tissue paper disappears and his arms wrap tight around my stomach. _You’re not allowed to cry_ , he says simply. He’s right, so I just don’t. _You did something beautiful_ , he says firmly, but I don’t know anything anymore. So I close my eyes and I count backwards from twenty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm will add a new chapter, this is more of a 'rising action' part for when he starts taking things outside of the bedroom   
> Disclaimer: Mental illness doesn't make a person 'evil', and the mentally ill are statistically more vulnerable to abuse. This is based on the book Hidden Valley Road~

I must be one of the most pathetic kids in school, because I actually _want_ to be there. I _want_ to sit in a cramped classroom and get up every ninety minutes to go to another one. I just _love it_ when Bazine calls my clothes and my hair ugly. I like school cafeteria French fries and oily pizza. But in all seriousness? 

I like seeing my best friends. Finn is the coolest guy ever, and he’s friends with everybody. Rose is a tomboy like me (with a _crazy_ big sister), and Poe is one of the popular jocks in school who hangs out with us for some reason. To them, I’m not ‘schizoid-Benjamin’s’ little sister. I can actually be _myself_.

When Ben started living at home, I actually had to _fight_ with Mom to keep her from taking me out of school and making me do an online homeschool program. Mom kept countering me, and telling me over and over that I’m _Benjamin’s_ _only hope_ , that I’m _Mom’s only hope_. But I told her that I was already giving up my whole entire summer, so why couldn’t she let me go to school? It’s still a big sore point between us, so she keeps a close eye on my grades to check if I’m about to slip up. We don’t even talk about college.

Today my friends and I sat in the hall and talked about what we’re gonna be doing over the summer, because they’re all planning on seeing each other over the break. Finn and Poe are going to a camp, and Rose and her sister are going overseas to visit relatives. Me, I’m going to be a _homebody_. I can’t go see America with Dad, I can’t go to the beach or go anywhere or do anything, because ‘ _your brother needs you_ ’. Once June comes, I’m going to be Benjamin’s 24-hour personal nurse. It’s super embarrassing, though, so I just let everybody else talk. I think I might be the only kid in school who is afraid of summer break.

.

When I get home, the first thing I notice is that the nurse’s car isn’t parked in front of the house. My feet stop dead on the sidewalk. We live in the suburbs, in a big white house. Whenever there’s an ‘incident’ at our house, the neighbors will sort of gather outside to watch the Skywalker Show. But there’s no witnesses, no police sirens. The sun is shining, and from somewhere I hear a dog barking. The nurse’s car is just _gone_. 

The only door that locks on our house is the front door, but right now, it opens at just a _push_. My feet spin beneath me, and I start to breathe really fast. My brother is probably loose around the neighborhood. So I don’t know what he’s doing, or when he’ll be back, or if he’s hurting himself or somebody else. I feel like I’m floating outside of my body, just watching things happen to me that I have no control over. I see myself walk inside the house.

As I close the front door, I hear the sound of footsteps. I turn around. Ben is just _standing there_ , in the hallway. He wears a black hoodie and jeans, and socks... The back of my neck prickles still. I know I _should_ be relieved that he’s home, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s _done_ something.

“Hi Rey,” he says softly.

I think I say something back, I don’t care. I drop my backpack on the floor and remove my shoes. “Did the nurse go home already?” I ask.

He tells me that she ‘had an emergency’. Fine. _Whatever_. Mom is going to be _so happy_ to hear that. He’s still just _staring_ at me, so I run upstairs. I go to the upstairs bathroom and close the door behind me. Just as I lower my pants and sit on the toilet, the doorknob turns. The door opens.

Ben is just _standing there_ , in the doorway. He looks at me for a moment, and then his eyebrows raise like he’s _pretending_ to be _surprised_. I _scream_ at him to _get out_. I try to cover myself with my hands. I try to hold it back in, but I was already started and it kind of _hurts..._

 _“Ben! Get out,”_ I’m really screaming at him, but the sound is sort of compressed inside the bathroom. My big brother doesn’t move at all, like he doesn’t hear me. I look for something to throw at him, but I have no idea what’ll set him off and get him violent. I guess I could throw toilet paper rolls at him. Or that wooden block on the wall that reads, _Everything gets better_. It sure does.

Ben isn’t listening to me, so I just... _go_. It’s _really bad_. I can _feel_ Ben _looking_ _at me_. When I’m finished, I think, _Now what?_ There’s a reason why he isn’t leaving. I can feel my calves go numb.

“Ben,” I try, “ _please go_.”

“Do you need my help?” he asks slowly. The _way_ he says it makes me feel sick.

He isn’t leaving me alone... I can’t sit here forever... I have homework to finish. I _have_ to get up, and _wipe_ myself. I just... Ben watches, but he doesn’t _do_ anything. When I pull up my pants, he leaves. Which is good, I guess. Maybe he really had no reason for barging in after all. I close the door again so I can wash my hands for twenty seconds, and then I just lean in front of the door just in case he wants to come inside again. I look at the lights and the wooden blocks, and I count. I just count. 

.

I don’t know when I come out. It’s like I skipped a few frames on a tv show... one moment I’m in the bathroom, and the next I’m in my room, laying on my bed. I can tell that Ben was in here... _recently_ , because my bedsheets kind of smell like him. Also I guess the bedsheets are a little more crumpled, but then I never bother to make them in the first place. I have more important things to worry about.

My homework is in my backpack downstairs, but Benjamin is _also_ downstairs. I need to do my homework, so that I can keep up my grades, so that I can keep going to school. But _what if he follows me again?_

This house is like... I don’t tell Mom this, but sometimes I feel like a _toy_ in Benjamin’s playhouse. If he doesn’t see me, I think that he momentarily forgets that I exist. If I’m gone for ‘ _too long_ ’, like if I try to go to my friend’s house after school, he remembers, and he thinks that he’s _lost_ his ‘toy’ and he starts screaming and crying and breaking things. But if he _does_ see me, he has to _watch_ me, and... _play_ with me, I guess. Pathetic, huh?

If I ever told Mom this, she’d freak out. She always insists that Ben _loves_ me, _loves_ his little sister, in his own _special_ way because he is a _special_ boy. Me, I’m just a regular, whiny, ungrateful, stupid _brat_ , I guess. 

Well, this _stupid brat_ has homework to do. I swallow down my fear. I just have to get over it, I just have to be quick. I go out my door and I look down the hallway. The coast is clear. I walk towards the stairwell, which leads down to the foyer. Once I reach the ground floor, I snatch my backpack from off the floor. 

Then I hear a _sound_. 

It’s the only sound that I hear. It’s like a really _violent_ _hand-washing_ , but it’s not coming from the guest bathroom. What is he doing? _God if I know_... I don’t think that even he knows what he’s doing sometimes. I have a choice: do I go upstairs and scrub that noise from my mind? Or do I be the good sister that Mom wants to be, and make sure that he hasn’t found a knife or a sharp stick outside to cut himself with? 

Shit. _Shit_...

Just a quick look. Just a quick look, then I don’t care. As quiet and fast as I can be, I hoof it to the living room, where the sound is loudest. Now I can hear his rough breathing. I peer around the corner.

The hallway leads to the dining room which leads to the living room, so I’m _far_ but I can kind of see the profile of the sofa from where I stand. I can see him sort of hunched over on the sofa like he’s in pain, and he’s rocking back and forth. The squelching sound is wet and quick. What is he _doing_?

The _smell_ hits me. It’s... It’s like the smell of the living room, and the bathroom, and my room, only more _intense_. My brother sucks in a breath like he's _dying_ , and then he moans in a suffering pitch. _Rey_ , he hisses, _Rey, Reeyy, it..._ He says some things that I don’t catch. I think... I think he’s thinking about...

Okay. Okay, my brother is ‘jerking one off’ in the living room. That’s not gross at all. Poe and Finn make fun of each other for shit like that. I guess it’s just _boy stuff;_ so what? It’s _my fault_ for being curious. I back out of there, and then I see him turn his head. Even from where I stand, I can see the whites of his eyes. The frame skips again and suddenly I’m in my room. How did I get here? Not important. I have homework to do. 

I dump my backpack to the floor. Then I just walk around my room feeling all jittery, and I look for something to maybe block the door with, just in case. I do need privacy... He comes into my room at night, more often. Mom just says he’s told her he’s been getting nightmares about me, so...

There’s all these _crusty spots_ in the carpet, that I feel beneath the soles of my feet. When I would do homework, I would pick at the one beneath my desk with my toes, but now they’re _really_ bothering me. I’ve known about them before… I don’t know why, but they’re really bothering me right now.

... I really am _pathetic_ , aren’t I?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait; I have been trying to complete testing ;; I might be ok for two weeks n then I must study til I die again
> 
> Thank u for your comments, ideas, and patience!! I've decided on one more chapter; you're in for a **shock** of an epilogue

I have this one nightmare that I’ve never forgotten, and it starts with me waking up in the middle of the night. It’s so hot, that my pajamas stick to me like a second skin. So I get out of bed, and I walk out of my room and into the hallway. At the end of the hall, past Ben’s door, there‘s voices coming from my parents’ bedroom. They’re muffled, at first, but when I move closer I can make out what they’re saying. Ben’s door opens behind me, but this is a nightmare, and in nightmares you’re stupid.

Han keeps repeating _I just can’t do it anymore, sweetheart. I don’t know what to do._

Mom is crying really hard; I’ve never heard her cry in real life. It’s hard to make out what she’s saying, but I know she’s begging Dad to stay. Han shushes her gently and I know he’s hugging her tight, like when _I_ cry.

Mom sniffles loudly — it’s really strange to hear her like this, because Mom never cries. It’s sad and scary, actually, but then her whimpering fizzles down to nothing. The ticking of a clock echoes downstairs. 

I’m about to leave, when one of them starts to speak again. ‘ _Just wait, Han_ ,’ she says, in a rasping voice. ‘ _When Rey is old enough, she’ll take care of it_.’

It’s quiet now, and when the voices start again, they’re all muffled and distant. Ben is standing right behind me. Then I wake up.

.

When me and my mom really get into it, she always resorts to a game of ‘Would you rather’. That’s why I asked if you would like to switch places with me; she says that I’m a _spoiled brat_. 

You could be homeless right now. You could be starving. There are girls my age that are already working, maybe in a sweatshop, maybe on the streets. You could be curled up inside a box, scared of getting stabbed or raped.

When Mom yells at you, you feel _really_ small. You feel really, _really_ awful and bad. Maybe she’s right; maybe I am spoiled, and selfish, and ungrateful. I’m shaking really really bad, and my hands are numb, but all my tears are gone away. I look at my Mom; she’s standing behind the kitchen island, with my phone in her hand. Her mouth is pressed in a thin line, and her hair is down; today is a Friday night. I’ve ruined her Friday night.

I think I can ruin it a little more.

We don’t talk about college in this house, but now I do. When Mom hears what I have to say, her mouth stretches in a red smile. “Oh. _Great_ plan, kid,” she says, her eyes crinkling. “Who do you think is gonna pay for it? Not _Han_.”

I’m gonna get a scholarship. But Mom rolls her eyes. “Oh _please_. You don’t have the financial _need_.” I can work. “What a load of _shit_. You need to take care of your brother; _there’s_ your work.” I _don’t_ _need_ to. “Who’s going to take care of _Ben?_ ” she demands suddenly. 

I want to say that I won’t, that I don’t care. But my tongue goes stiff. I know it’s a terrible thing to say.

“Benjamin _loves you_ ,” she insists. “You know what a _shit father_ Han was. It was Ben who taught you how to ride a bike. Ben who took you camping. Doesn’t that matter at _all_ to you?” she demands indignantly. 

My eyes sting. I know that I’m ungrateful. 

Her expression changes. “Oh.” Her hands fall to her side. “Just like that. You’re going. You’re going to pack up your bags, and _leave_. Gonna run off, like your _father_.” She circles around the kitchen island but I move away, scared. I don’t want her near me. 

“That’s what you are. You’re just like your _father_.” Her teeth flash in her mouth at each word. “You’re going to _abandon_ your mother, and your brother, because you don’t want to take _care_ of them anymore? You just want to _leave_ , because it’s too _hard_?”

“Dad left because of _you_ ,” I spit out. “ _You couldn’t just leave him alone!_ ”

She recoils. Her eyes flash and for a moment; I wish I could take it back. We also don’t talk about Dad, except how much Mom hates him and that he left us. Then her eyes narrow. Now, I just _know_ that I'm going to regret being born.

“Is _that_ what you two talk about, behind my back?” She waves around my phone. “Or do you just make up these _stories_ , hoping that your _Daddy_ will come to save you?”

I just wanted to see Han for the summer. I texted two lines — ‘Ben is being weird’, and ‘He comes into my room’. I thought that Han could maybe pick me up in the Millennium Falcon. But then Han extrapolated a whole bunch of other things that Mom thinks _I_ came up with. I never thought Han would snitch to Mom like that; I didn’t know that they still talked. Now I know better.

Ben always comes first, in Mom’s eyes. I come first in nobody’s. That’s why Poe makes fun of me, for having _old parents_. Han used to joke and call me the ‘ _happy little accident_ ’ — because I was a mistake that they didn’t really want. Han has no use for me, but Mom thinks I’m here to take care of Ben. Now she’s mad because she thinks that _I’m_ broken, too.

Mom shakes her head in disgust, and she says that I can run away if I want to; she won’t stop me. But she’s keeping my phone because she paid for it. She opens the fridge and stares at the opened wine boxes stacked at the bottom. I know that they’re all gross-tasting and flat, and she knows it, too. Her shoulders sink.

“I hate you,” I say to her back. 

She tosses her head back, probably smiling.

I wish I weren’t born into this family.

Before I can go, there’s a buzzing sound. Mom’s head jerks towards it; it’s coming from her purse, which sits on the kitchen island. Mom slams the fridge door shut and exchanges phones — placing mine in the purse, while grabbing hers. She brings hers to her ear, and says “What is it, Ami? ... No, I’m not busy.” Then she waves at me to go, like I’m a fly bothering her. To Mom, _work_ comes first, before anything else. Even Ben.

I go slowly up the stairs, because it’s so late. I brush my teeth and change into my pajamas, but I’m not even in bed yet when I hear the muffled buzz of the garage door opening. Probably some work emergency. The sound makes my body tense up, and as I crawl into bed, my body stiffens like rigor mortis. I’m a corpse lying in its coffin. 

.

I have this one nightmare that just keeps coming back.

The doorknob turns, slowly. Then there’s a knocking sound: wood against wood. I swallow nervously, a fist forming in my chest. Before I went to bed, I pushed my old toy-box in front of the door — the heavy one that Luke made. Mom _hates_ it — it scuffs the wood floors, and it always makes a grating sound whenever it moves. But Mom isn’t here. I can’t believe that I’m being saved by _Uncle Luke_.

There’s a muttering sound outside — muffled voices. The door shudders, and then the grating sound starts. My hopes sink, and I feel my body tightening again. 

The toy-box slides slowly across the floor, until the doorway is wide enough for him to slip inside. He clucks his tongue gently; he knows that I’m awake now. Right? He just _knows_.

But he pulls back the covers, without saying anything, and he lays himself out by the side. The bed sinks beneath his weight; he puts his hands on my shoulder and waist, and he pushes me slowly to the side, making room for himself. It’s really creepy, how gentle and quiet he is. Maybe he doesn’t know that I’m awake. 

Then he cups my jaw and turns my face. Something wet touches my lips, and when I open them, something slips inside. It’s wet and gross. I hit him with my hands, and when he grunts I can feel it in my throat. I manage to twist away from him, but I can still feel a wet trail at the corner of my mouth, which I try to wipe off with my hands. I think that Ben just kissed me. My first kiss is my brother. 

I manage to sit up, but his hand presses down on my thigh. I can hear his heavy breathing, in the dark. When he leans in again, I catch his jaw in my hand and I try to push him away from me. “Ben! _No_!” I scream. Han said to scream loud next time. Maybe he’s sleepwalking. Maybe I can scare him off, like he’s some sort of animal that’s afraid of loud noises. That’s Han’s thinking.

It’s hard to make out his words, but I think he’s saying _Ben is dead, Ben is dead, Rey. Ben is dead._ He grabs my shoulder, and he shoves me back down on the bed. I try to push him off, but he grabs my wrists and pins them down to either side. When he leans in, his body squeezes the air out of my guts. “ _Your brother is dead_ ,” he says — I think he sounds _happy_. “ _Benjamin_ is _dead_. Now you and I can be _together_.”

“ _What_?” I choke out.

He leans in, the tip of his nose dragging along my cheek. When he speaks, his words are muffled but I hear all of them. “Don’t cry for him, little one. He was _weak_. You need a teacher, _someone adept in the Force—.”_ His words trail off when he buries his face in my neck. 

I try to count or think about running away — anything but what’s happening. Ben says some more things about Grandpa and the Force. He says that Han isn’t our father, but Grandpa is, and that Grandpa's name is Darth Vader. ‘Benjamin’ was a _Jed-eye_ trick installed by Uncle Luke; my brother’s real name is Kylo Ren. The Force that was in Grandpa or Darth Vader carried into Benjamin or Kylo Ren, which was why Uncle Luke tried to kill him, like he killed Grandpa. From then onwards, the medicines and the therapies and the doctors were all attempts to kill him. He says that the Force wants us to be together. I just nod a lot, and say _okay_. I really think that he could hurt me, right now.

“You don’t believe me,” he says abruptly. “You’re _lying_ to me, little one. I can see every thought inside of your head.”

I shake my head, _afraid_. “No, Ben—.”

“ _Kylo_ ,” he snaps, squeezing my wrists. “Kylo; my name is _Kylo_.”

I say that name, and I say it again, and we say it together until it doesn't really sound like a word anymore and my tongue goes dry and it catches on the _K_ at the beginning. He goes dead quiet while I struggle out of the rest of the _-y low-ren_... Now I _really_ think he's going to kill me, but then his grip loosens and he kisses me on the forehead. ‘Kylo Ren’ really does sound like the name of a crazy, evil alien. Maybe his brain jumbled up ‘Skywalker’, ‘Solo’, and ‘Ben’. I don't know.

... Is Ben _really_ dead? Is my big brother _really_ dead, like he says? 

I remember when Ben came home. I was so sad, but also secretly happy because I missed him so much. I’ve seen him lucid. Sick as a dog, but lucid. And sad. 

So maybe _Kylo Ren_ is the sickness. _Kylo Ren_ is the delusion that killed my brother and tried to kill Han and made Han leave. This is the _thing_ that Mom wants me to take care of, for the rest of my life. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “You don’t know how _long_ I’ve _waited_ for you, Rey.” He releases my wrists and slides his hands down. I slap his hands when he reaches my chest, and he makes a sound. When Mom comes back, I’m running away. If Han won’t help me, then I’ll go to Finn’s or Rose’s house or anywhere. I don’t care. I just don’t care anymore. Anyplace has to be better than this.

His throat clicks and then he says something like _You know you can’t leave me_. Then he tries to kiss me again but I grab his jaw and shove him away. But his hands catch the elastic hem of my shorts and he starts dragging them down. I scream, but Mom isn’t home. I kick his body, but he’s bigger than me. I don’t think he can feel pain anymore. 

Then he grabs my jaw. I bite down hard on his hand and I try to shake him off; my fingers pry at his wrist. _Shh, shh_ , he says, while he’s crushing my body beneath his. Something hard and hot pokes me down... _there_. I scream against his hand until all of my air runs out. There’s a pulsing, rushing sound in my ears, like the ocean. He kisses my temple.

When he breaks inside of me, it’s the worst — it hurts _really_ really bad. He goes hard all over, and then his hand loosens from my mouth. He smooths my hair back from my face, and touches his forehead against mine, and I think he says _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ but then I just don’t hear him anymore. I don’t want to hear him, or feel him anymore. 

Then he moves inside of me; I think he tries to pull out, but he starts to get the tremors, so he gives up. So he clutches me to his body, and he strokes my hair in his shaking fingers. After a long time, his breathing slows, and his touches stop, but I don’t dare move. I _can’t_ move... What if he gets me _pregnant_? Would I have to drop out of school after all? Would Mom make me _keep_ it? 

When the garage door opens downstairs, he still doesn’t move. I try to shift my legs, but it hurts; there’s something gross and wet down there. I bite my lower lip, trying not to cry or scream; I don’t want him waking up, or having Mom explain this away. My brother is gone and dead to me; he said so himself. It’s time that I let him go.


End file.
